


Playing Secret Agent

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team has started to fall apart after the events of "The Well", but things only get worse when Skye tries to handle an assignment on her own and uncovers a plot that could tear S.H.I.E.L.D. apart from the inside out. Now it is up to her to save the others and put their team back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "G.W."

**Disclaimer:** Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is a work of fiction belonged to Marvel Entertainment. I am just having some fun with the characters.

**Author's Note:** Just as a heads up that I am relatively new to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and have not seen the movies associated with the Marvel franchise although I think I understand the gist of how they play into the AoS plot. This work takes place after S01E08 and will be an exploration of Skye's character as well as what may have happened to Agent Coulson.

**Summary:** The team has started to fall apart after the events of "The Well", but things only get worse when Skye tries to handle an assignment on her own and uncovers a plot that could tear S.H.I.E.L.D. apart from the inside out. Now it is up to her to save the others and put their team back together.

**Playing Secret Agent**  
Chapter One: "G.W."

Ward hadn't spoken a word to her since Ireland. Not that she expected him to, really, he never said much on a good day, but this, this was something more than his usual 'tough agent' act. Sure, he still trained her often enough, but not with the same insufferable attention to detail that he always had. The man possessed an ego that would put James Bond to shame yet he barely blinked at her when she, yet again, confused the magazine release for the safety release during weapons training. Nor did he react in combat when she tripped and almost bowled headlong into Coulson's vette, Lola. When they weren't working or training it was as though he simply wasn't there anymore. There was something inside him that was still smouldering and she couldn't do a damn thing about it.

The worst part was, it wasn't just Ward, May was more withdrawn than usual, even for her, and Coulson, the glue that held their unlikely team of misfit's together, was barely with it himself. He was more subtle about it, but she saw it in his stiff movements, in the dark circles under his eyes implying he hadn't been able to catch a decent night's sleep in weeks; something was eating away at him as well. Fitz and Simmons were the only ones who seemed to be acting half normal, but they were so absorbed in their lab work that she rarely saw them.

When Skye reflected back on it, it was as though the tentative sense of camaraderie they had all formed had started to fray; that they weren't so much a team anymore, but a group of strangers working against a common enemy. She could see it even if they couldn't. Maybe that was why when the 0-8-4 came in she tried to handle things on her own and the whole damn thing just went to hell from there.

May had parked the Bus on the outskirts of Frobisher Bay on the south-eastern tip of Baffin Island. It was a harsh, windswept, wasteland of a place with almost no tree growth and permanently frozen soil. The eroding Arctic Cordillera mountain range battered the landscape into a series of outcroppings and jagged peaks that deviated from the flat monotony of the tundra. Electromagnetic activity had been detected in the area and HQ had started to worry that 'Mt. Thor' might actually have some Asgardian affiliation after all.

"Did you know Sir Martin Frobisher made three separate attempts to try and find a shipping route through the Northwest in the 1500's." Fitz informed them as they huddled under the large, overarching wing of the Bus.

"Yes, it's quite sad really, he only made it as far as Frobisher Bay, which now bears his name," Simmons chimed in, not looking up, her face awash with the neon glow of her tablet.

"Frobisher is one of many explores of whom—"

The wind howled, drowning out whatever encyclopedic fact Fitz had decided to contribute to their impromptu history lesson. Skye shivered and pressed herself closer to the side of the plane.

"…he brought back gold to the Queen of England, but it was really iron pyrite…"

She smiled, the banter at least gave her some sense of normalcy—funny what her definition of 'normal' was these days. She shook her head, turning to head back inside, but something stopped her. A flicker, she couldn't quite catch it at first, drowned out by the swirling snow, a trick of the light perhaps? No, she squinted, forcing herself to focus on the shimmering point, barely visible in the shadow of the granite mountain range that carved the landscape.

Her eyes flicked to Coulson. He was standing a few feet away from them, his head down, speaking quietly with May. Ward was nowhere in her line of sight. Probably off playing secret agent somewhere she thought.

Her eyes scanned the point again—still there. A daring thought simmered in her mind. She could check it out on her own, prove her worth as a full fledged agent. If she achieved her goal maybe they'd trust her again?

"I'm gonna go find Ward," she mumbled to Fitz-Simmons who were still engaged in a heated debate over who was the greatest of the Northwest Passage explorers. Neither agent took notice when she plodded inside the cargo bay of the Bus only to return several minutes later with a pair of gloves and a S.H.I.E.L.D. issue pack. They didn't so much as lift their heads when she shuffled past them in the direction of the shimmer.

Skye watched the ground as her feet disappeared and reappeared, disappeared and reappeared, over and over again in the crunching snow. It was deeper than she thought, but she found that by concentrating on each step she could drive herself forward without faltering too much.

The day was cold and the wind had started to pick up with a vengeance. She could feel it biting through the poorly insulated jacket she had zipped into before setting foot outside. The arctic tundra was no place for an LA city slicker and she was starting to learn that lesson all too well.

For the fist few hours she had inched forward at a blind, staggering pace completely unprepared for the drag the snow was causing against her feet. Now it was starting to swirl around her as well, reducing her visibility to nothing more than a few feet. That was probably why she didn't see it at first: a lithe, shaggy thing that was edging closer at a gentle lope. It stopped her dead in her tracks and she squinted at it, not quite realizing what it was until it was too late.

The wolf's bass growl sent Skye stumbling backward into snow where she sagged, bracing her fall with the back of her hands. She winced, feeling the dampness of the ground beneath her bite through her already frozen jeans. It made her thighs burn with cold.

The wolf was twice as big as it had looked from a distance and a hundred times more intimidating. He was long and broad in the chest with a deeply descending ribcage and a sloping back.

"Nice doggie?" She asked weakly. The wolf gazed back unpleasantly, cocking his thick neck to give her a better view of his wide head and long, blunt muzzle. Skye felt her stomach drop to the level of her feet as she caught a glint of large, heavy teeth, perfect for crushing bone.

This was it. She wasn't going to die of frostbite, or her own stupidity as Ward might chalk it up to. She was going to be eaten by a god damn dire wolf straight out of some HBO drama and Coulson was going to be pissed.

Skye closed her eyes no longer sure if she was paralyzed with fear or simply too numb from the cold to try and run. At least with her eyes shut she didn't have to watch the damn thing come at her. She waited, bracing herself for the moment when she could feel the creature's hot breath on the back of her neck, right before slathering jaws closed around her—nothing? Skye blinked once, twice, three times before she finally forced her self to lift her head again, eyes open.

She didn't realize right away, it took a few breathless moments for it to sink in that the wolf wasn't moving. He was barely fifteen feet away from her, hackles up and growling, but he wasn't moving at all. Here was fresh meat for the taking and the overgrown dog hadn't shifted an inch.

That's when she saw the wound. A long, deep gash that sectioned the wolf's front left paw into a garish mess of sinew and exposed muscle.

Her spirits lifted. "So that's how it is huh? Not so tough without that leg of yours?"

"Why don't you come over here and see how tough I am, Pup." The wolf curled his lips back exposing a long row of bone white teeth.

Skye glared back at the wolf in a fragile burst of courage. Her mind was elsewhere, valiantly trying to categorize auditory hallucinations in the 'stages of freezing to death' Simmons had lectured them about.

"One more time?" She started, great—now she was engaging the auditory hallucinations. That couldn't be a good sign to say the least. "Whu…what'd you say?"

The wolf's ears twitched. "You understand me?" he asked gruffly.

The scowl fell from Skye's face and she stared back, dumbfounded. "Not funny. You can come out now."

She turned her head toward a nearby snow bank thoroughly expecting a group of Inuit children to be hiding behind it, having a good laugh at the idiot tourist who got herself lost in the middle of the tundra.

"Enough," the wolf snapped. His voice was low and surprisingly chastising. "You do understand that if you continue to sit there like a gaping bafoon you're going to freeze to death?"

A bewildered Skye stared back at the wolf, laughing uncomfortably. "I'm not completely buying this, pal. I don't know what the deal is here, but you're a wolf and I'm a human and I've seen enough National Geographic docs to know that guys like you eat gals like me."

"And you've obviously got too much time on your hands if you watch that drabble, but thanks for the biology lesson," the wolf snorted.

Skye glanced around frantically. This wasn't happening. She was either passed out in the snow somewhere or she was starting to go crazy from the cold. That was it than, she was going to die here.

"Well," the wolf looked at her expectantly. "Aren't you going to move?"

They locked eyes again. She shuddered, staring for a long moment. "Let's say for argument's sake that we actually are communicating…right now," the breath sputtered between chattering teeth.

"We are." The wolf assured.

"…that you actually can talk…" A blast of snow caught her across the face making it almost impossible to keep her eyes open as she struggled with her words. She was cold and fading fast.

"I can." He agreed. "Six different languages, actually. It used to be seven, but my Mandarin is rusty as hell, you know how it is—yer in a bar in Beijing slugging back a double shot of Luzhou Laojiao and this barmaid, pretty little thing, asks ya ta…hey, you still with me, Pup?"

Skye swallowed, the world was fading dangerously in and out of focus. She couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to. And now she was beginning to understand, in a vague, far off manner, that this wolf was real. She wasn't imagining it. It was injured and it was being cautious: why waste energy when its prey was going to kick the bucket soon anyway.

She could here the looming crunch of footfalls and what was probably the injured leg dragging against the icy ground. It didn't matter now, the sound was starting to distort.

She was so tired and thought fleetingly that perhaps dying wasn't going to be so bad—just like going to sleep.

"Oh, for fuck sakes," something growled above her as her head rolled back into the snow.

The next thing Skye knew she was on her side with her legs sticking off at awkward angles. She groaned, feeling the last tendrils of sleep pull at her as she shifted, burrowing her head back into to the radiating heat of her pillow. She gave a contented sigh and nuzzled further down into it, finally warm and relaxed.

"Looks like you're feeling better." The sound reverberated through the length of her pillow. She froze, her 'pillow' chuckled.

"Welcome back," the wolf flashed a toothy grin when she grudgingly unfolded herself from her warm cocoon of mottled gray and white fur.

"You made it through the worst of it. That's good."

"You still didn't eat me." Skye muttered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes to take in her new surroundings. It was dark, but she knew she was in an enclosed space. If she squinted she could distinguish the faint outline of rock walls and a pinprick of dusky light in the distance.

"No," he rasped. "I didn't."

"I don't understand."

The wolf ignored her, concentrating his effort on trying to stand up and failing miserably. He slid back down with a yelp the moment his bloody foreleg fell out from under him. The force was enough to tear the wound further, exposing an inordinate amount of bloody tissue.

"That looks like it hurts." Skye observed.

"It's seen better days," the wolf agreed. He chuffed, resting his head on his paws, resigned.

"Look," Skye chewed on her bottom lip. "I…I could take a look at it. I mean I'm not a vet or a doctor or anything, but I could stitch it up and bandage it."

Two piercing yellow eyes fixated on her.

She gulped, there was no backing down now. "p…provided you don't eat me, or maim me, or maul me, or do whatever it is you normally do to people like me." She added, her tone suddenly becoming wary.

"I don't eat junk food," the wolf growled in thinly-veiled retort.

"Good to know," Skye edged closer to the large canid, still not entirely convinced that she was not caught in the middle of a _very_ lucid dream. Be open-minded, she told herself, in the past few weeks you've seen supervillans, and aliens, how did Coulson put it? _Front row seats to the strangest show on earth._ A talking wolf shouldn't even register as out of the ordinary anymore.

Gingerly, she reached for her S.H.I.E.L.D. issue backpack and opened it, medically she was reasonably stocked with some bandages and a couple pre-calibrated syringes of morphine.

"What do I call you anyway? Mr. Wolf?"

The animal curled its lips in disgust.

"Come on, I've got to call you something, right? Do wolves even have names?" Skye was not paying attention to the irritated glare she was receiving in response.

"You're a gray wolf, right?"

No response.

"Okay, I guess that's a yes?"

The animal blinked at her.

"How'bout G.W. than? It's a cool name."

"If you like acronyms." 'G.W.' muttered and if it were possible for a wolf to role his eyes he did so.

"Very well," he relented.

"Well G.W., my name is Skye."

She held up one of the syringes and cracked the tie on the plastic collar. "I'm going to stick this in your leg, or paw, or whatever it is you call it and it's going to hurt like hell so please don't kill me, OK?"

G.W. looked down at his mangled leg and gingerly extended it toward her. Skye held her breath as she inserted the needle above the wound. The wolf exhaled sharply, but otherwise didn't react.

"Morphine. It'll take a few minutes to take effect and then we can stitch you up," she explained.

"What did you do to it anyway? Piss off a polar bear?" Skye sat back on her haunches to inventory the remaining contents of her bag.

"I could ask you the same thing," G.W. returned evenly. "What's a puppy S.H.I.E.L.D. agent doing out this far away from her pack?"

She swallowed, "how did you—"

The wolf snorted. "The bag you are wearing has your affiliation written all over it, you're not dressed for the weather, _i.e. damn near freezing to death_ , and you're working alone which is _THE_ absolute stupidest _period_ of stupid decisions _period_ that an agent can make. No offence Pup, but your situation has rookie written all over it."

"Since when can wolves read?" She returned, matching the intensity of his gaze.

G.W. scowled at her, but didn't object when she reached for his injured leg, needle poised. Skye dropped the first stitch.

"So, are you some kind of alien than? I met one once." She thought back to the rogue Asgardian who had started this whole mess.

"Do I look like E.T. to you?" the wolf grunted, glaring at her.

"No," she agreed "but you're definitely not a wolf."

"Well, I'm glad we've established that fact." He stifled a hiss as the needle pierced his torn flesh for what felt like the twentieth time.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I know how much this sucks. Couldn't afford much in the way of healthcare growing up, had to do this on myself a couple of times. Got pretty good at it though."

Skye tied off the last stitch and gestured to her handwork. "At least now it doesn't look like you put that thing through a meat grinder."

G.W. dipped his head to clean the excess blood from his injured leg. He nipped at the crusty fur where discharge from the wound had started to congeal into a sticky mess.

"That should do you for a while," she explained when he was finished. She padded the area with a reinforced sheet of non-adherent gauze before wrapping his entire leg in a thick, broad bandage.

"Thank you, Skye." The wolf's expression was mild.

She dipped her head. "I owe you a thanks too, for not letting me freeze to death," Skye admitted as though suddenly realizing the gravity and share stupidity of her situation.

G.W. cracked a smile. "Don't mention it."

"Since you seem so incessant on questions. How about you let me ask you one?" The wolf hedged after a long moment.

Skye shuffled, settling in beside him. "Shoot."

"Why did you wander off by yourself? I get the feeling you know better."

"Are you my keeper now?"

Her response was met with a derisive snort. "No need to get defensive, Pup. Just an observation."

She sighed and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her elbows across them to conserve body heat. At least she could start to feel her legs again.

"My whole life I haven't done a very good job of fitting in. I guess I thought that if I could do this one thing my team would like me better. Maybe even trust me again." Skye frowned at the silver tracking bracelet still affixed to her wrist. Coulson hadn't trusted her enough to remove it yet. It had been hours since she had wandered off. Perhaps that was it—her one chance and she blew it. Maybe they weren't coming after her this time.

"I'll take you back at first light." G.W.'s gruff voice interrupted her thoughts. "You couldn't have wandered five miles in any one direction. There'll be traces if we know where to look."

Skye couldn't bear to tell him that she may not have anyone to go back to.

"Now one for you." She spoke in a nonchalant voice, forcing a change of subject. It was easier not to think about it.

"No, I don't know Marvin the martian,Yoda, or ALF." G.W. stated matter-of-factly, a glint of something mischievous playing on his wolfish features.

He managed to tease a genuine smile out of her.

"Not what I was going to ask," she held up her hands in mock insult.

"Alright," G.W. relented. "Fire away,"

"What's with that collar?" Skye gestured to the thick black band that was flush against the coarse guard hairs around the ruff of the wolf's neck. It looked heavy and was equipped with a small silver box that resembled that of a RFID collar, which scientists often used to track the movements of large animals.

"Trouble."

"Come on, that's all you're going to give me?"

"Fine," he huffed. "Let's just say it's the reason I'm stuck with four paws and a tail at the moment."

"And the leg?" She edged on.

He paused, considering his words carefully. "Also, a contributing factor."

"Come on," Skye groaned. "Would it hurt you to be a little more transparent?"

"Would it hurt you to be a little less nosy?" He retorted.

She glowered at him and he rolled onto his side signalling the end of their conversation.

As night fell Skye lit a fire and huddled, wrapped in a coarse S.H.I.E.L.D. issue blanket she found stuffed at the bottom of her pack. Her companion had clocked out from the pain, morphine, or both and she was thankful for the solitude.

She sat, slumped with her back pressed against the solid rock wall and one arm slung across her knees. The other was toying with her tracking bracelet, its molten glow sending triangular refraction patterns spiralling into the air as she spun it on her wrist. It took all the self restraint she had not to dwell on what it meant. Coulson could have Fitz-Simmons find her with a single keystroke if he really wanted to. If they really wanted her they would have come by now.

Dawn was clear and frigid. The snow clouds had drifted away leaving traces of pale blue and orange in their wake. She was up as soon as the sky broke and weak sunbeams had started to splinter the cave floor in cold, white light.

G.W. was waiting for her at the mouth of the cave, cleaning the marrow out of a large thigh bone from some unidentifiable animal. He held the still sinewy appendage in his jaws and angled it towards her.

She made a face and he took the hint.

"How's the leg?" She asked by way of a greeting.

"Much better, thank you." The wolf informed her. The awkward gait he maintained as he shuffled around made her doubt the truthfulness of his response, but he got along well enough when they started walking.

They spent the next three hours in almost complete solitude. Sometimes they would stop and G.W. would sniff the air or ask the occasional question.

"I know, I've said this before, but I think we're almost there. Does any of this look familiar to you?"

Skye peered over at the large canid flanking her. "Oh yes, there's my favourite rock. How could I forget this place?"

She huffed in frustration and gestured skyward with her hands. "How does any of this look any different from where we were an hour ago?"

"It's subtle, I know, but it's there. The snow is shallower and we're closer to the ocean than before. Surely you'd remember if you were close to the water?"

She considered this for a moment. "Frobisher. Fitz-Simmons were going on and on about Frobisher and the Queen of England."

"Frobisher was an explorer who attempted to find a shipping route across the north in the name of the Queen of England. Frobisher Bay now bears his name."

"Well, I'll be sure to take note of that in my travel brochure."

"No need to get snarky," the wolf grunted. "It's good news. That, out there," he gestured to the thin line of choppy blue barely visible above the horizon, "is Frobisher Bay. Jogging any memories now? Those rock formations perhaps? The coastline is riddled with high cliffs"

Skye squinted at it. "Maybe," she sighed, feeling lost. She wasn't cut out for this.

"It'll be more visible when we get closer," G.W. assured her. "I wouldn't worry about it yet."

"So what happened to him?"

The wolf cocked his head. "I'm sorry?"

"Frobisher. Did he find the passage?" Skye decided she was tired of the silence. She felt cold and alone enough as it was.

"Nope. He tried three times and gave up. If I remember correctly he was shot and killed during the Siege of Fort Crozon, one of the only Spanish held—"

"Spanish held…" Skye started, but he shushed her before his nose shot up into the air. She looked at him.

"This way," he broke into an awkward trot. Even with the injured leg Skye struggled to match his stride.

"Where are we going?" The ground had started to grow more uneven as they grew closer to the coast. She had to devote all her attention to watching her footfalls one wrong move and she would be flat on her face.

G.W. loped along twenty paces ahead of her, his ears twitching as he shifted his nose between the air and the ground. Then he stopped suddenly, almost tripping her up in the process. She started to grumble something, but the words caught in her throat, leaving her mouth agape.

"Is he one of yours?" The wolf gestured to the body laying face down atop a narrow outcropping of granite and partially covered with snow.

"Ward!"

**Author's Note (II):** OK, I know it's a little strange, but I do actually have plan for how this story will play out. What do you think? Should I continue?

_**Poll: If you could pick only one character to help Skye out of a tough predicament (not saying what it is) who would it be:** _

**A.** P. Coulson  
 **B.** G. Ward  
 **C.** M. May  
 **D.** L. Fitz  
 **E.** J. Simmons


	2. Out Cold

**Playing Secret Agent** **  
**Two: Out Cold

"Ward!"

Skye reacted without conscious effort. The exposed rock below her scraped along her legs as she fell, tearing her jeans at the kneecaps. She barely noticed the sting of fresh blood as it seeped through the already fraying denim, instead drawing long shaky breath and steeling herself for what lay before her.

Ward was sprawled face down in a half inch of snow, his left cheek bloody and frozen where it pressed against the ground.

"Ward…Grant!" Her fingers clutched at his bomber jacket, the black fabric tinged with a sheen of heavy frost that smeared on her gloves as she rolled him onto his back.

"Come on," she shook him hard, palms planted on his chest. His body jerked mechanically.

"You gotta get up, Agent. We gotta go!" Her voice cracked, one hand darted upward to cup his chin while the other rooted for a pulse—nothing.

"Dammit, Ward!" She tore off her gloves and jabbed as his neck again, desperate. All the while the figure in front of her lay gray and unmoving. She couldn't feel anything—just cold. His skin might as well have been ice. The problem was, she was the one trembling like a six-year old as her hands found his chest again.

G.W. saw what she was going to do and quickly nudged her away. She reacted with a solid smack across his muzzle.

"Hey…hey…easy." The wolf caught her right arm between his teeth when she readied herself for a second swing at him. He didn't bite, but the move provided him with enough leverage to wedge himself between her and Agent Ward's body.

"I have to help him," she sobbed, weakly attempting to free her arm. G.W. held it in his jaws until he was sure he had her attention.

"Skye, You _don't_ need to preform CPR," he assured in his gravelly tone.

No response. Her eyes were still fixed on Ward.

"Pup, I need you to focus for me," he said a little louder.

Nothing.

"Skye!" He pressed his paw into her hip, nails digging into her skin.

She blinked, staring at him, bewildered and sobbing.

"Come on." The wolf sighed once he was sure he had her attention. "Take a deep breath and listen to me, OK?"

Skye choked out what he interpreted to be an affirmative and he gave her a little nod. "Good girl. His heart is still beating, it's just very, _very_ slow."

"How…" she stammered.

G.W. flicked his ears in explanation. "My hearing is a hell of a lot better than yours, Pup. Now, I'm not gonna lie to ya, he isn't in good shape. We need to focus on getting him out of the cold before we can do anything else for him. Right now he is in a very low energy state: his breathing is shallow, his heart is barely beating, and his metabolism has slowed to a crawl, _but_ it's enough to supply oxygen to his brain—that's a good thing. He can hold out a little while longer we just need to move quickly."

Skye nodded and drew in another long breath, trying her best to compose herself.

"He's too heavy to carry," she murmured, crestfallen.

The wolf sat on his haunches and looked up at her. "I know. We're gonna have to drag him. Do you happen to have any rope in that tactical bag of yours?"

Skye nodded again.

"Good, that's good. There's also a blanket and more of those broad bandages in your first-aid kit, right?" He held up his injured leg and gestured to the length of fabric crisscrossing his fur.

"Yeah, there's a couple left." She motioned to slide the pack off her back, finally starting to comprehend what the wolf wanted her to do.

He watched patiently while she spread the blanket out onto the rocky ground. It was durable and made of a thick, wiry material that didn't seem to soak through where it pressed against the damp earth.

"Dammit, Ward. I never thought I'd be the one dragging your lazy ass out of trouble," Skye whispered to his unmoving form. Grunting, she seized him by the shoulders and rolled him until he was on his back in the middle of the blanket.

The man didn't react when she straightened his legs, tying them together at the ankles with what remained of the broad bandages. She did the same with his wrists before bundling the edges of the blanket over him in a way that resembled a cocoon, reinforced with rope, so that only his face exposed. The goal was to minimize as much drag as possible.

"Watch his head when I pull," G.W. instructed her as she adjusted the makeshift harness she had fastened around his chest.

Skye nodded solemnly.

"The good news is he's left a pretty strong scent trail for me to follow."

"Thank you. For doing this—for saving him." Her voice was weak and barely above a whisper.

"Don't worry about it," the wolf assured.

Their pace was slow and measured. The ground was cold and uneven. The wind had started to rise again, blowing snow in dune shaped drifts that they had to climb through the exposed rock underneath cutting at their feet. To complicate matters, their load was awkward, listing to the side as they tried to walk, dragging the injured wolf along with it.

It was another quarter of an hour before they caught sight of Coulson's modified Bowing C-17 looming on a flat piece of land at the juncture of Newell Sound.

"I take it that's yours than?" G.W. commented, watching Skye's face brighten when she realized the Bus was exactly where she had left it.

"Coulson!…Simmons!…anyone—HELP!" she roared at the top of her lungs, breathless, as they made their final steps toward the large plane.

Something wasn't right. She felt it before she saw it, just a slight twinge in her gut, at first. The cargo doors were wide open, exposing the belly of the plane to the conditions outside. That wasn't like them at all. Her jaw dropped as they gingerly made their way up the steel ramp, passing through the narrow strip of slippery flooring between the two vehicles parked at the back of the bay. Frost had collected on the back of the Lexus GX and Coulson's 1962 Corvette was half buried in a snow drift.

"HELP!" She yelled again, not wasting any time. She broke into a full blown run once she saw the lab doors—no one. Skye launched herself up the metal staircase leading to the upper deck and almost fell face first, her knees scraping the metal landing at the threshold of the cabin door. She caught herself on her hands and stumbled forward, desperately searching for someone—anyone!

That was when she noticed it, just out of the corner of her eye at first, a scrap of fabric barely visible, but enough to standout from the surroundings. She increased the length of her stride.

"Oh my god, Coulson!"

He was the first one she saw, laying on his side, suit rumpled, right arm outstretched, in the corridor between the kitchen and the situation room.

"Coulson, A.C., hey, hey, come on." Skye shook him and prodded his neck for a pulse, relived when she felt a resounding thump against her fingers.

"What's wrong with you, A.C.? Wake up!" His breathing was steady, but he was completely unresponsive to her ministrations.

"HELP! I NEED HELP!" She belted the words at the top of her lungs. She turned her head toward the doorway and caught sight of Agent May passed out on the situation room floor. She was at the senior agent's side in an instant, checking her pulse, slapping her across the cheeks, begging her to wake up—nothing. Panic bubbled inside of her, threatening to knock her off her feet as she forced herself to continue her search.

Skye wasn't exactly surprised when she found Fitz and Simmons in no better condition. The two scientists were sprawled in the large chairs near the front of the plane with a laptop open on the table between them. The screen was dark, whatever they been looking at had long since faded when the power supply had died. She shook them half-heartedly, but at that point she had all but given up. This was hopeless.

"They're all unconscious," She blubbered, practically falling down the metal steps leading to the cargo bay.

"CulsonMayFitz-Simmons…allofthem." It spilled out of her in a jumbled mess. She slumped against the bottom step.

G.W. glanced up from where he had spread himself out over Ward's body in an attempt to passively transfer body heat. A small growl escaped his throat. If he was concerned he didn't let it show.

" _Just_ unconscious?" he clarified.

"I think so. I can't wake them," she croaked. "None of them."

"Not an issue at the moment." He told her after some consideration. "We have shelter and we have supplies, so we'll deal with one thing at a time. Right now I think Agent Ward's condition is _more_ pressing."

Skye bit her lip and gripped the metal railing, white-knuckled. The room felt as though it was threatening to engulf her, squeezing her chest, making her ears buzz and her stomach roil.

"First rule of being an agent." G.W. watched her calmly, unfazed by her apparent state of upheaval. She could barely hear what he was saying over the frantic beating of her heart.

"5 seconds." He told her.

She was gasping to keep her breath and didn't respond right away.

"Close your eyes, Pup." The wolf fixed her with a knowing look, his yellow eyes burning into her, holding her gaze. She shuddered, but reluctantly followed his instructions.

"Now count to five…slowly." He watched her breath stutter in her chest as she tried desperately to regain control of her breathing.

"Slower," he warned. "Let it wash over you, it's OK. The fear is something that's gonna happen whether you want it to or not—but only let it in for five seconds, then you open your eyes, you take a breath, and you push ahead. Simple as that."

It was a long, stifling moment before Skye did just that: opened her eyes and blew out a staggered, trembling breath.

"What do we do?" Her voice sounded weak and tinny in her own ears. She ignored it as she pulled herself back into a standing position.

"We need to raise his body temperature as quickly as possible. Is there a shower or preferably a bathtub around here?"

Skye pointed at the metal stairwell. "Both. In the cabin."

G.W. took one look at the spiral staircase and groaned.

"Manageable," he grunted.

"Run some water, keep the temperature just a little above lukewarm. Too much heat too soon is the wrong approach to take, we don't want to put him into shock."

She was still shaky as she navigated back up the stairs into the bathroom at the far back of the plane. The bathtub it contained was small and cramped, but she managed to set things in order. Maneuvering Agent Ward into it five minutes later proved to be much more of a challenge.

"Yer gonna have to get him out of his clothes," G.W. panted from his crouching position as they rolled Ward off his back and onto the bathroom floor. Skye glanced from the wolf to Ward, her mouth a grim line. They had unwrapped him from the blanket and he had unceremoniously curled in on himself as soon as his wrists and ankles were free.

"OK, that's good." Skye rasped. "Movement is good."

"Ward," she knelt by his head, trying not to let his pallor and the dusky colour of his lips alarm her. He was laying on his side with his arms crossed tight against his chest. The shivers were coming non-stop now.

"Ward…Grant, I need to get you out of these wet clothes, OK?" She could hear the sound of his teeth chattering, it was impossible to drown it out, the force made his entire skull shake.

"Alright," she told him. "We're gonna do this one step at a time. We'll get you out of these wet clothes and then nice and warm. I just need you to stick with me a little longer, S.O.." Skye doubted he heard a word she was saying, but the action gave her something to focus on.

"Nice and easy, just one step at a time," she repeated, making it her mantra as she reached for the zipper of his jacket. The cold had warped the metal track and she had to fight with the pull tab to release the clasp around his waist. As if sensing what was coming next, Ward clenched his biceps tighter, preventing her from stripping the jacket away completely.

"Come on, Grant. I need you to work with me here," Skye pleaded, half in frustration, half in desperation.

He didn't respond to her feeble attempts to separate his arms. It was a futile effort and she apologized profusely when she reached for the scissors in the cup on the counter-top next to the sink.

Ward didn't react when she made the first cut across the elastic cuff of his jacket, down his arm, and up to his right shoulder. She repeated the motion with his other arm, issuing a futile tug at the mess of fabric trapped in the space between his arms and his chest. The majority of it was stripped away, exposing a layer of fleece underneath. She cut that too, leaving him in a tattered black t-shirt and jeans.

The next part proved to be more difficult. She swallowed before she scooted down toward his waist, maintaining a business-like approach as she reached for his belt buckle, yanking the leather belt through the loops and casting it aside before turning her attention lower.

"I'm really sorry about this," Skye assured him while she worked the buttons of his fly free, vaguely wondering if he had realized one of them was starting to come loose. It was an exercise of pulling and twisting against the smothering weight of his snow-soaked denim. Eventually she wrestled the jeans off of him and his bare legs jerked against the sensation of the cold bathroom tile under his thighs. At least he was starting to react.

"See if you can get him to relax his arms, if only for a moment." G.W. instructed, watching her reclaim the scissors to cut along the hem of his t-shirt.

"Any suggestions?" Skye asked, gingerly stripping as much of the cotton fabric away from his torso as possible. Her touch elicited a small whimper from the man below her.

"Place your hands along the back of his neck. He's carrying a lot of tension in his trap muscle running along his shoulders. Massaging the area might increase his blood flow enough to get him to relax."

"Hear that, Ward. Now you got me striping ya down and giving you a massage, and you didn't even buy me dinner first," she tried to joke, but came out as a fearful warble.

Skye slid back toward his head and very gently placed her hands on his shoulders. He flinched at the contact, but she didn't let it get to her, thankful that she could feel the steady pulse of his heartbeat under her palms. Her motions were tentative at first, rubbing the chords in his neck and then spreading her thumbs laterally, applying a steady pressure to the space between his shoulder blades.

"You do carry a lot of tension here," she scolded him, prodding at a particularly large knot. It didn't surprise her really, the man practically took it upon himself to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, or in his case: the success and failure of every S.H.I.E.L.D op that he ran.

Ward made a garbled sound of protest as she brushed her thumb against bicep, prodding at the solid mass of muscle.

"Relax," she told him in a low voice, leaning in close to his ear. "You gotta let me help you this time."

She kneaded his arms for a few minutes more before something changed, he shifted, just slightly, but there was enough give to strip him of the remaining fabric.

"OK, that's good…that's good, she soothed.

Now all the remained were his underwear.

Skye swallowed, glanced at his white boxers and then at G.W. with a look that clearly said: _do I really have to do this to him?_

"It's gonna have to happen at some point." The wolf told her in his matter-of-fact tone of voice.

If removing her S.O.'s last shred of dignity bothered her she didn't let it show. She positioned her fingers along the elastic, averted her gaze, and worked the garment down around his legs as gently as possible. She did her best not to look as she tossed the boxers on top of the pile of rags on the floor, and wrestled Ward into as much of a standing position as she could muster. His arms were still clenched, but she used them as leverage to help balance his weight. G.W. pressed against his other side and somehow they managed to lower him into the bathtub.

"Now what?" Skye asked, pitching on the rim of the porcelain.

Unfortunately, Ward made that decision for them when he threw his head back, a pain-filled howl emerging from his throat as his limbs twitched dangerously, splashing water over the side of the tub. Skye dove to steady him, but his strength had returned in a bout of delirious rage that damn near took her off her feet.

"Ward, hey…hey come on. Calm down. Just calm down," she pleaded when he grabbed her by the wrist and tried to pull her in with him. His entire body was quivering now, but it did little to contain whatever was erupting inside of him. Skye's quick burst of relief over the improvement in his condition rapidly faded.

G.W. shook his shaggy head, waving it off. "He's delirious, or dreaming. It's common for hypothermia patients to act disoriented or combative."

The wolf took note of Ward's rapid breathing, watching as his grip on Skye gradually loosened and he curled into the fetal position, cowering like a trapped animal in the small bathtub.

"Is he prone to claustrophobia?" He mused, wondering if their close quarters were exacerbating the issue.

Skye started to shake her head 'no' and then remembered Jemma asking him the exact same question.

"He acted like this after he passed out from grabbing the alien staff," she recalled.

Something changed in G.W.'s tone. "Wait. 'The Alien staff?' What _kind_ of alien staff?" the wolf asked warily.

"A Berserker Staff."

"And you're _just_ getting around to telling me this now?" He fixed her with a lethal look, nostrils flaring.

Skye stared at him. "Why would I—."

"It doesn't matter," G.W. cut her off, sounding annoyed. "Was anyone else on your team exposed? Were they _near_ it? Did anyone _touch_ it?"

"Why would—" she started again only to be shot down.

"Skye, this is important." G.W. rounded on her in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

Skye bit her lip. "Ward was the first one to pick it up. It knocked him out and threw his hormones into overdrive."

"ACTH which stimulates adrenaline production. Made him pretty aggressive, right?" G.W. peered over at Ward's long, lean frame, weakly kicking the tub, practically rippling with muscle.

"Very," Skye agreed. "He's been acting kind of withdrawn ever since, not that he's Mr. Social Butterfly most days, but there's a difference, even for him."

"And the others?" G.W. wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Agent May, took the staff from Ward. Not aggressive, but more withdrawn than usual." Skye thought for a moment. "I don't know if Fitz-Simmons were near it. Agent Coulson might have gotten close to it."

"How's his behaviour been?"

"Distant." Skye frowned, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ears. "Where are you going with this?"

Another frantic splash drew their attention back to Agent Ward.

"No…please don't." He begged between clenched teeth. "d…do…don't…hr…hurt him. P…please."

"He's drowning…please…let me throw him the rope…please."

"Whoa, hey Grant. Come on now, snap out of it!" Skye touched his cheek in an attempt to subdue to him.

His eyes fluttered open, angry and shining with delirium. "YOU WANNA GO TO HELL? YOU WANNA GO TO HELL!" He raged, splashing and shouting so loudly that half the tundra could probably hear him.

"Grant!" Skye tried again, sliding on the slippery floor. She was unaware of the tumult of emotion coursing through him.

In his head he was reeling, tears sliding from his cheeks, catching on his chin as he frantically gripped the rope. His brother was going to die and it was all his fault. He couldn't protect him, he was too damn weak and helpless to do anything. Something hit him hard and suddenly he was falling and then drowning. He could feel the cold seeping into his lungs. He bucked forward, struggling against the water dragging him down.

" _Order_ him to calm down before he hurts himself" G.W. urged as a wall of water hit him square in the face, making his eyes sting.

Skye shot him a questioning look, but the wolf had a point. Ward was the most protocol obsessed agent she knew.

"If you think it's worth a shot," she huffed and squared her shoulders in the most authoritative stance she could muster.

"Agent Ward, STAND DOWN!" She barked in a loud, booming voice, channeling her best 'Agent Ward' impression.

Something clicked. He stopped splashing and totally relaxed for a moment, limbs going almost limp as he slumped against the back of the tub.

"That's good, really good," G.W. edged her on. He shook away the moisture collected in his thick coat, adding to the oversized puddle that was slowly engulfing the bathroom.

"OK Agent," she continued. "Your orders are to sit in that tub until your S.O. tells ya you can get out, you got that, Rookie?"

Ward muttered a meek "Yes, sir," and closed his eyes again, his chin tilting against his chest.

"Good call," Skye mused, bewildered by his response. Trust Ward to be so mission oriented that he responded to 'direct orders' even in this state.

She refilled the tub and had him sit for another fifteen minutes before she 'ordered' him to stand up. He was shaking like a leaf by the time they managed to walk him into his bunk with only marginal effort.

Skye frowned, watching the tremor in his muscles as she tucked him in, layering him with every blanket and heating pad she could find. He was the strongest person she knew and she was unable to shake the shear terror that she had seen in his hollow eyes.

"Don't worry." G.W. ducked his head inside the bunk. "His pulse is strong and we'll monitor his temperature." Something changed in his voice.

"Right now I think you and I have other problems to deal with."

**Author's Note:**

1\. Firstly, thank you so much for your kind words as they encourage me to continue writing. Yes, I know this story is still really out there on the weird scale so far, but I do have an end game plan and I don't want to give too much away to soon. :-)

2\. It might be a week or so before I update as I have a ton of school work coming up.

3\. Please review if you don't mind :-)

_**Poll: Which scene would you most like to see in the next chapter?** _

**A.** A detailed explanation regarding the wolf's origins/what he thinks happened to the others.

**B.** Skye having to talk Ward down through another fit of rage and prevent him from harming the others.

**C.** Skye helping Coulson through a nightmare.

**D.** Skye being forced to pilot the Bus when it comes under attack.

**E.** Skye finding a way to revive Fitz-Simmons (there is a reason why this is plausible and it involves a certain tracking bracelet and the Berserker Staff).

**F.** The Berserker Staff having a dangerous effect on May.

**G.** Other: I'm open to suggestions for scenes throughout the fic :-)


	3. Not a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent

**Playing Secret Agent**  
Chapter Three: Not a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent

The silence seemed to stretch on forever. Initially she attempted to ignore it, humming to herself softly as she worked. She had tried to belt out a tune at first, but it morphed into a nervous sound akin to a low warble, which did little to tame the bone-chilling stillness that had swallowed the plane. Pleading had obviously been the next logical step after ignoring the problem had failed. She couldn't rouse them with her god-awful rendition of The Foo Fighters' _Learn to Fly_ so begging them to wake up would certainly work. It had to.

G.W. watched her unblinking as she repeatedly shook Phil Coulson by the shoulder, which only resulted in a couple of extra wrinkles being added to his already rumpled Hugo Boss.

"Come on, A.C. I _need_ your help with this," she urged the senior agent who remained utterly unaware of her ministrations.

"Come on, what's wrong with you?" She grunted, focusing on the frown lines that creased the corners of his lips and lower forehead. His eyeballs flicked lazily under his lids. REM, she realized.

"Now's really not a great time to take a nap. I never thought you were the type to sleep on the job." Skye complained, tapping his cheek lightly. His jaw tightened adding a sternness to his usually mild features. Whatever he was dreaming about wasn't good.

"Help me get him up off the floor?" She made a gesture toward the plush leather couch on the far wall of their living quarters near where Fitz-Simmons were still haphazardly sprawled.

The wolf stood wordlessly, allowing Skye to lean Coulson against his back as she sat the senior agent up, stripping him of his grey wool jacket and silk tie; there were dark grey chevrons etched in the pattern.

"Up an'attem', A.C.," she grunted, heaving him upward by the arm pits and dragging him over to the couch, thankful that he was easier to maneuver than Ward had been. Couslon's body hit the cool leather with a barely audible thunk, his legs curling toward his torso as he assumed a sightly more natural sleep position. Not that anything about this was natural, but Skye, once again, did her best to push it from her mind. Instead, she occupied herself with finding him a comfortable throw pillow and coaxed him into letting her place it under his head.

She glanced over at two chairs by the window where Fitz-Simmons were still sprawled. They had shifted slightly, Fitz's head limp against his shoulder as his right arm dangled from the over-stuffed armrest. She moved to secure it, letting it fall in his lap before she turned her attention to Simmons. The female scientist had somehow crumpled forward in her seat and Skye had to grasp her shoulders and shift her backwards in order to keep her from falling.

"If you guys were awake you'd be able to think of some super-nerdy way to get us out of this mess," she sighed, shaking her head.

They repeated the process with May, up and off of the situation room floor and into her bunk. She had never set foot in the senior agent's personal space before and doing so now felt like a major infraction of her privacy.

Skye's eyes hesitantly flitted across the room, the same dimensions of her own, outfitted with a cot bed and a small shelf to store personal belongings. She was surprised to note a pot filled with half a dozen red and yellow tiger lilies near the small airplane window. She stared at them as she eased the older agent down onto the bed, balking at the thought that anything could render Agent Melinda May so placid. She half expected her to use her supreme ninja skills to spring awake at any second and give her the third degree for the privacy invasion. She was disappointed when nothing of the sort happened and her attention turned back to the lilies again. There was a small tag curled in between two bright green stems. She stared at the neat, angular script.

_Happy Birthday Melinda_

_-Phil_

Skye's eyebrows furrowed. When did Agent May have a birthday? Coulson knew, but why hadn't they celebrated it? Actually, no, she knew the answer to that, but they should have at least been allowed to wish the senior agent a Happy Birthday. Who wouldn't want that?

Skye let out a frustrated breath.

"You'd know what to do," she told the unconscious agent.

A small moan escaped May's lips and Skye chewed her gum, uncertain.

"Agent May," she tried tentatively. "Agent May, please wake up."

The older agent's head moved restlessly on her pillow, an unintelligible sound gurgling in her throat.

"May," Skye tried again.

"It's alright," she soothed, but May was far from alright.

***

Melinda May was in a place she had visited many times. It was a bright and dusty landscape with dozens of overarching buildings devoid of colour. She was in the heart of Manama during high summer, characterized by a looming, yellowish smog roused by the Shamal winds, which blew sandstorms across the Zagros Mountains. If she looked hard enough she could see traces of the Persian Gulf on the horizon, a faint blue line off in the far distance.

There was a vague familiarity in her step as she skirted slowly along the dusty asphalt. The city of Manama was a mercantile hub and gateway to the main island of Bahrain. In the early 20th century Bahrain's fast growing oil wealth helped to spur the diversification of many of its population, securing its status as an important trading post along the Gulf Coast. In recent years petroleum reserves had started to dry up giving way to heavy industry: aluminum smelting and textile factories that leeched a caustic, chemical smell into the air. A smell that lingered with her as she took a perfunctory breath.

It would be so easy to turn tail and run. Her stomach roiled with anticipation. On some instinctual level she knew what she was walking into even if it was nothing more than a ghost of a memory. May forced herself not to react just like her training had taught her. It worked for a little while, putting one slow step after another as a crowd gathered around her. They were mostly S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents nondescript and faceless, watching her with unseeing eyes as she shuffled passed, head bowed.

"HQ wants us to fall back. There's nothing we can do to get them out," someone said. She vaguely remembered glaring at them and shrugging off the hand that lightly closed upon her wrist. The second time someone tried to hold her back she lashed at them, startling a junior agent so badly that he fell backward. There was no third time. Just a small group of wary agents watching passively as she walked into the danger zone—alone and unarmed.

The building itself was a flea-ridden dust shack in an industrial zone on the very outskirts of the highway. It was a stark contrast to the jeweled beaches and tourist chalets that Manama was known for.

The Index Asset Evaluation and Intake procedure was supposed to be any easy op to run, they just wanted to talk… _just talk_. No one had anticipated how quickly things could go south, how they could lose two of their own people.

She didn't remember entering the building, but inside she heard a little girl struggling, pleading for her mother. Then silence, giving way to nothing more than her own footsteps scraping across chipped linoleum. It was dark and her vision snagged on the one bright patch, her brow furrowing.

Coulson? She frowned, squinting, but they didn't take Coulson. He was supposed to be outside, babysitting the pack of juniors and attempting to bar her from going in alone. He was supposed to be the one, that when all was said and done, would take her gently by arm, whispering assurances as he wiped the blood from her hands.

It wasn't her fault…not her fault—he was supposed to tell her.

Something was off, the dream wasn't following its well worn track. Her heart was beating too fast too soon and Coulson wasn't supposed to be standing in front of her with a gun pressed to his temple and the body of a small child at his feet. She did a double take as a shot rang out and Couslon crumpled in a twisted pile of limbs. Her knees hit the ground before she could react eyes frozen on the gradually spreading pool of blood.

"No…"

***

"No…don't leave me…please, don't leave me…" Her words morphed into a mournful sound that was punctuated by an even sharper cry.

"Oh, May." Skye felt the fear rise in her throat. She was unsettled by way the expertly composed agent now wreathed in front of her. Instinctively she reached to clasp May's hands in her own, rubbing small circles with her thumbs.

"Please wake up," she whispered. May moaned again, but didn't open her eyes; tears flooding her cheeks with a blotchy red.

"Leave her be." G.W.'s gruff timber pulled Skye away from her reverie.

She turned, shooting him a defiant look. "But look at her, she's terrified! We can't just leave her like this."

"Then what do you suggest we do about it?" The wolf challenged. "Cooing over her and holding her hand like some kind of nursemaid isn't going to help. We need to identify the root cause of the problem and you can't do that from Agent May's bedside."

Skye scowled.

G.W. ignored her.

"You wanna be a field agent someday?" He asked, his voice gruff as her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Yeah," she admitted, but there was something guarded in her expression.

His eyes narrowed.

"Than I suggest you start acting like one," he told her coolly.

Her hands slipped from May's and she looked down at the floor, taken aback.

The wolf continued, his tone low. "Rule four: never let personal relations cloud your judgement."

She stared at him.

"The best thing you can do for them is help me figure this thing out," he explained. "Think you can do that?"

She swallowed and nodded.

"Got anymore tips?" She asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah. Do as I say." He huffed dismissively before he turned his back to her and disappeared into the cabin. She scoffed at his retreating form.

Skye covered May with the blanket folded on the end of her bed and turned after the wolf. He was waiting for her in the aisle near one of the plush chairs at the very edge of the cabin as far away from the 'bodies' as possible. She winced at the thought: _bodies_ , was that what she was referring to them as now?

She studied G.W. as she took a seat and drew her knees into her chest. His head was large and powerfully built with a heavily muscled neck and jaws that twisted into a formidable scowl. He was sporting his winter coat in full glory; a messy assortment of dense underfur and long, coarse guard hairs that crested and thickened around his neck and shoulders. The hairs on his cheeks formed long tufts, dividing the medium to light grey fur covering his back and the upper half of his face. The lower half of his muzzle was painted in a light cream which stretched across his underbelly and down his long, robust limbs and stubby paws.

"What's wrong with them?" Skye hedged, watching the wolf's bulky frame saunter towards her. He sat on his haunches and she contemplated just how bizarre he looked perched next to her overstuffed armchair.

"It's hard to say, really," G.W. admitted.

"You don't know," she deadpanned.

He kept his yellow eyes on her, steadily, his expression unreadable.

"No," he admitted after a long moment. "I don't. I can think of a couple dozen things that could have done this."

"A couple of dozen things?" she echoed in disbelief.

"Look pal, I don't know what it's like for you in Crazy-Talking-Animal-Ville, but around here people don't just drop into some kind of weird unwakeable sleep." She paused for a second before adding, "at least not that I've seen away."

"And just how much has the puppy S.H.I.E.L.D. agent seen?" G.W. chided.

"Well," she began confidently, but faltered. "I've seen enough to know this isn't normal, even for S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Hmph…" the wolf rolled his eyes slightly.

"I'll give ya that one," he conceded. "You said earlier that your teammates came into contact with a Berserker Staff? Tell me about that."

Skye frowned, thinking back. "Agent Ward touched it first when he tried to apprehend the professor."

"Elliot Randolph?" G.W. interrupted.

She nodded. "You know him?"

"The hippy Asgardian?" The wolf growled. "I warned him to not to so much as take a shit in the vicinity of that staff or I'd have his lowly ass shipped back to Asgard faster than you can say Valhalla."

"Well, he found part of it after the first third had been stolen."

"Mmmm…what happened next?"

"A lot of hulkish rage on Ward's part. He used the super strength to get the second piece from the two goons that stole it and then May used all three pieces to finish the job on the rest of their lackeys."

"So Ward at 67% flux and May at 100%? Did the thieves come into contact with more than one piece?"

Skye blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

G.W. licked his lips and took a long, deep breath.

"Randolph split the staff into three pieces. Did the individuals who stole it ever come into contact with more than one piece at a time?" He spoke with a forced patience as though he were communicating with a small child.

She considered, "possibly, but if they did it wasn't for more than a second or two. Ward and May were holding on to the majority of the pieces."

"Likely a 33% flux than," he muttered to himself "and a 33% pulse for their followers, assuming a minimal transference time."

"Can you try that in English?" Skye groaned, issuing him a look that she usually reserved for Fitz-Simmons.

"Flux," he repeated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world and was surprised she even asked. "Is the available energy transfer between objects as defined by the law of conservation of mass-energy. It's negligible when we consider everyday events, but acts as a useful measure with regard to objects that release large amounts of energy."

"Such as rage-inducing alien staffs?" She asked.

G.W. nodded. "The excess energy can take on many forms, but in this case rage, as you mentioned, is the primary effect. The overload of adrenaline also stimulates a part of the brain known as the amygdala which is responsible for increased fear, aggression, and sexual behaviour."

"Yeah, kinda noticed the first two, but that last one, seriously?" Skye raised her eyebrows.

The wolf gave a noncommittal snort.

She frowned, "but this flux stuff does go away over time, right?"

"Yes," G.W. agreed.

"In this case anyway. It's uncomfortable, but its effects will dissipate. The fear portion is always the longest lasting, probably dredged up some uncomfortable memories, but the staff didn't cause this," he said dismissively.

"Sure, it may have catalyzed why we found your sulky S.O. buried in a foot and a half of snow, but whatever is affecting your team does not fall in line with any of its known effects. Have any of you come into contact with _anything_ or _anyone_ else that I should be aware of?"

Skye made a sound somewhere between frustration and laughter. "I don't know which S.H.I.E.L.D. academy you trained at, but the supernatural stuff —kinda our thing."

"You're _are_ a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent…right?" She hesitated when he scowled.

"No," he snapped, his voice like a razor wire.

"I don't like S.H.I.E.L.D. agents," the statement was matter-of-fact as though he was reporting the weather.

"Well, you talk like one…" Skye started, defensive, realizing she'd hit a nerve. He cut her off with a derisive snort.

"Look, Pup. Before we continue let me make one thing very clear." G.W. told her in a a carefully measured tone. "Because under normal circumstances we would never be having this conversation and right now you're asking questions that are way the hell over your clearance level."

A soft growl rose in his throat.

"As much as they like to let themselves believe it, S.H.I.E.L.D. is _not_ the only agency who deals in the arcane. They're a sloppy, lazy, inexperienced group of bureaucratic bafoons who hardline policy over productivity and don't know jack shit about dealing with anything alien."

"Glad to know you think so highly of them." Skye returned dryly. "I mean I didn't like the guys in dark suits much either at first, but…"

G.W.'s ears flattened. "Do you want me to explain this to you or don't you?"

"Alright, alright." Skye held up her hands in surrender. "No need to bite my head off."

He waited a long moment before he continued. "I work for the agency charged with monitoring and policing alien activity on earth."

She fidgeted, pondering this for a moment. "So you're like real life Men in Black?"

He glared at her, but she ignored him. "Wait, does S.H.I.E.L.D. know you guys are handling the whole alien side of things?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't know its head from its ass," he replied snidely.

Skye choked back a strangled sound.

G.W. curled his lips in distaste. "Although, for reasons I cannot fathom our Director deemed it necessary to apprise a few of the Level 12's of our existence. Interagency cooperation and all," he grunted.

"There's a Level 12?"

He rolled his eyes.

"So…" Skye hedged, sounding a little wary.

"So…" he repeated in a mocking tone.

"Can I at least get a real name?"

The wolf considered her for a moment and then sighed. "Granger. Department of Clandestine Services Field Operations Director Owen Granger."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Quite the title you got there. And the wolf thing?"

"Classified."

"Oh come on, you've just told me about your ultra-secret organization."

"No."

The echoing thump of something heavy falling drew them from their conversation. G.W., no, Granger growled and Skye sprung from her seat in the direction of the sound. She ducked her head inside the open bunk just in time to see Ward stagger to his feet, legs tangled in a wooly blue and white quilt.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" she asked as she moved quickly to his side.

"What?" he asked in confusion and his head slowly toward her voice.

"Grant, I _really_ think you should lie down," she told him seriously, feeling her initial optimism take a hit with the evidence that he was still so very ill. She pressed her palms against his shoulders in an attempt to force him back on the bed. He was still so cold. She could feel it seeping through the thick black fleece he had been bundled in.

He shook his head in a slow, woozy manner, fighting back with an erratic swing of his arms. Skye let go and stumbled back a few paces.

"Ward?" She tried to meet his eyes, but saw nothing more than a blank unseeing gaze.

"Yer not supposed to be here," he said suddenly, barely able to support his own weight. This time when she grabbed his arm he barely noticed.

"Hey, you need to rest," Skye persisted. "You're not yourself right now."

"No." He protested, sounding hurried. "We have to get out of here before he finds us."

"Ward, what are you talking about?" She frowned and lightly squeezed his wrist, trying to get his attention. He didn't react, instead casting drunken looks around the bunk like a caged animal.

"Come on…he'll hurt us…we gotta go…gotta…go" His words were thick and barely audible. She had never heard him sound so terrified before.

"I don't want you to die," he mumbled, staggering a few steps before his knees shook and his legs turned to jello.

"Whoa!" Skye gasped in alarm, barely able to break his fall. Her hands slid against him in a bear hug around his ribcage and he groaned in dismay as she shifted his solid frame back onto the bed with an awkward shove. He grunted when his back hit the mattress, legs dangling awkwardly over the side.

"I…don't want you to die…please…he's mad this time…" Ward rasped out disjointedly as she managed to grip his ankles, sliding him back against the mess of pillows and blankets.

"Hey, hey come on now. Grant, you've gotta try and relax. There's no one after you, we're on the bus, remember?" Skye leaned in over him, a note of pleading in her voice. "You're safe, no one's gonna hurt you. It's fine."

"No," he slurred, eyes wild. "He'll kill…he'll…" Whatever he was going to say seemed to stick to the back of his throat casing his Adam's apple to quiver. No, Skye observed, his entire body was trembling, from fear, or cold, or both.

Feeling a current of damp air sweep passed them she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, coaxing him into sitting up long enough to readjust the blankets.

She grabbed the thick, heavy-knit black cap that had fallen onto his pillow and reached to replace it over his mussed hair. He swatted at her.

"Agent Ward," she warned, trying her best to sound stern. She caught his left wrist and gave it a firm squeeze which seemed to deter him. Ward gave another frustrated groan as he muttered something thick and barely audible. His eyes were pinched tightly shut, undoubtedly battling some unseen demon from his past.

"He feels warmer than before, but he's really out of it." Skye glanced up from tucking in his bedsheets, expecting to see the wolf's shaggy head lingering in the door frame.

What she saw startled her and then a grin spread across her face.

"Agent May!"

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, firstly I would like to apologize for the very late update work, the holiday season, and a massive multi-day power outage kept me from finishing this off. Thank you so much for your reviews and support, I really appreciate the feedback and it encourages me to write more.

**Poll: Which character would you like to see more of in the next chapter:**  
 **A)** Coulson  
 **B)** May  
 **C)** G.W. (Owen Granger)  
 **D)** Fitz-Simmons (Two for one deal here :-) )  
 **E)** Ward

Also, if there are any specific scenes or ideas you would like to see expressed in this story feel free to let me know and I would be happy to work them in. :-)

**Next time:**

"Hold the phone here, I don't know the first thing about flying a plane."

Granger huffed. "At least you haven't picked up any bad habits."

"Or _any_ habits, _at all_." Skye emphasized.


End file.
